


Aneth Ara

by chileancarmenere



Series: Vir Lath Sa'vunin [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:51:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chileancarmenere/pseuds/chileancarmenere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marethari is getting old and needs to train a First. At Arlathvhen, she finds one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aneth Ara

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from Strangeness and Charm by Florence and the Machine.

_You’re a chemical that burns, there is nothing like this_

 _It’s the purest element, but it’s so volatile_

 _An equation heaven sent, and you’ll forever inject_

 

At first, Tamlen thinks that an Arlathvhen is his idea of perfect. The bustle, the songs and the laughter and the dancing. Marethari introduces him to everyone proudly as her five-year-old nephew, and he relishes her pride in him. His friend Daran Mahariel is beside him the whole time, and they are spoiled rotten by the Dalish, who above all else value new children.

But then his aunt begins to speak with the Keeper of the Alerion clan. Things start to change.

“None with magic was born into the clan,” Marethari tells the Alerion clan’s Keeper, Indiri, in a quiet voice. Tamlen sits at her knee, where she absentmindedly strokes his hair. He wants to keep an eye on his aunt, because she’s been going off by herself a lot lately. “I need to start training a First. I’m growing old, Indiri.”

Indiri nods slowly. The Alerion clan, Auntie tells him, has had three children since the last Arlathvenn born with magic. Indiri already has a First. Those three children are likely to be given to other clans to train as Firsts.

“I think I know who would make you a good First, Marethari.” Indiri deliberately smoothes her robes over her knees. “A bright young elvhen girl. She’s quick and clever, although she can be a bit…excitable.”

“What’s her name?”

“Merrill,” Indiri says. “She is four years old. A bit young, but by the time the next Arlathvhen occurs, she will be too old to begin training.”

“Merrill,” says Auntie, rolling the name on her tongue, as though tasting it. “Well, I’d best meet her.”

The next day, Indiri brings a small, dark-haired girl to Marethari’s aravel. Tamlen, one arm possessively wrapped around Auntie’s leg, surveys her. She seems curious, and her eyes dart from place to place. Her movements are sharp and fast. She makes him think of quicksilver - here one moment, gone the next.

“Merrill, say hello to Marethari,” Indiri instructs, giving her a gentle shove towards Marethari. Auntie kneels down - dislodging Tamlen, who whimpers in distress - and extends a hand. “ _Aneth ara_ , Merrill.”

“ _Aneth ara,_ Marethari,” she chirps, taking Marethari’s hand in both her own. “I’m so pleased to meet you!”

Marethari smiles over Merrill’s head to Indiri. “She’s certainly precocious.”

“That she is.” Indiri nods. “Merrill, you are going to be leaving with the Sabrae clan when the Arlathvhen ends. You will be Marethari’s first.”

Tamlen is watching her face, and he takes a peculiar pleasure in watching her already pale skin go ashen. She is well-trained in her duties, however, and she doesn’t cry. “Yes…of course, Keeper.”

“I am not your Keeper any more,” Indiri says, more gently. “Marethari is your new Keeper.”

“Of…of course.”

The Arlathvhen ends the next day, and the Sabrae clan packs up and leaves for the Brecilian Forest. The Alerion clan departs for Nevarra, miles and miles away. When she sees her clan leaving, Merrill does cry. Tamlen is not sympathetic. After all, Auntie is paying her all the attention. She doesn’t _have_ any reason to cry. “You’re being babyish,” he says, unkindly.

She scrubs at her eyes. “Am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I am not!”

It probably would have gone on for longer had Marethari not stepped in. “Children,” she says, frowning. “There is no cause for this arguing.”

“He called me a baby,” Merrill says accusingly, pointing at Tamlen. Tamlen feels the need to defend himself. “She is being one. She’s crying!”

“Her family is leaving,” Marethari says sternly. “She will not see them again for many years. If we had given you to the Alerion clan, you would be crying right now too.”

Tamlen is quietly thunderstruck. Given _him_ to another clan? Why would Auntie do that? Didn’t she love him?

“It would be for the good of the Dalish,” Marethari continues, as though she had read his thoughts. “But you would have felt wronged. Wouldn’t you? You would be sad, and you would miss us. So be kind to Merrill. Imagine what you would feel like in her place.”

Tamlen shuffles his toes in the dirt. Merrill uses the distraction to completely wipe her face dry with her sleeve. “I’m not a baby, Keeper.”

“No, you are not. And I think Tamlen recognizes that now too, doesn’t he?” she asks pointedly. Tamlen shrugs his shoulders and agrees, grudgingly. “You’re not a baby.”

Marethari kneels down between the two of them. “The two of you will be part of the future of the clan. It will be your task to uphold the Vir Tanadahl. You must rely on and help each other, not sow division. Do you understand?”

Merrill nods obediently. After a moment, Tamlen nods too. He doesn’t think he understands all of it, but he does understand this: Auntie wants him to be good to Merrill.


End file.
